


Power Play

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Under Suspicion
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-22
Updated: 2004-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where they've been heading all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

When the Detective approached him at the _placa_ , Hearst had abandoned the desolated look once again for one of nonchalant arrogance. Nothing in his posture reminded of the broken man that had confessed the murderer and rape of the two girls in the interrogation room. A sneer stretched his lips as Owens walked up to him. 

"Did your masters send you to come crawling with an apology?"

Owens briefly considered to tell him that groveling was hardly in his nature. Besides, there was nothing to apologize. He'd done his job. Hearst had _smelled_ guilty. He'd had the opportunity, the motive; and even now, Owens wouldn't put it beyond the man to be capable of such a crime. Of course, if he'd speak that out, the Superintendent would have his head. 

"Come on, I'll give you a lift home." A half-hearted offer of peace. He didn't for once second expect Hearst to let him get away with that.

Instead of accepting the olive branch, Hearst bristled with righteous indignation, his voice rising above the music. "I suppose then I am to thank you for the gracious offer! If you think that will save your ass, you sho—“

"Oh, shut up." It was all he could do not to lash out and hit the older man.

It was almost funny how easily Hearst could get a rise out of him. It was a two-way street, obviously. Ever since their first encounter after Hearst had reported Sue Ellen Huddy's dead body, they'd kept each other constantly on the edge. Yes, Owens had smelled a rat and suspected Hearst guilty right away, but that was only half the story. There was something beneath that, smoldering, underlying tension waiting to explode. It was only now that the case was out of the way and Hearst's name was cleared that Owens became aware of it. 

"I wonder if your Superintendent would approve of you talking to me like that,” Hearst mused aloud. “Maybe you should learn to remember your place."

The image that sprang to Owens' mind was disturbing, but it hardly came as a surprise to the young officer. And it was altogether too perfect to needle Hearst with to let it go. "And where exactly would my place be? On my knees? Or am I... too old for your taste, maybe..."

That, at least, shut Hearst up for the moment. The sense of victory Owens might have felt didn't come, though, too persistent was the mental image of his own suggestion. All at once he realized that this was where they had been heading all along, ever since his first visit to the Hearst estate yesterday... well, two days ago now. It was well past midnight. 

Owens silently led the other man up to the car and got in, uncomfortably aware of Hearst's eyes never leaving him. 

It wasn't until they were halfway back to Hearst's villa that either man spoke again.

"Tell me, Detective Owens, did you get off on imagining what I'd supposedly done to those girls?" 

Owens gripped the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white.

“When you went through that little performance up there in the office, did it excite you?” 

Even though he kept his eyes firmly on the road, Owens could feel Hearst's gaze shifting significantly to his lap. His teeth dug sharply into his lips as he was willing the answer that was already ready on the tip his tongue not to come out.

No. He hadn't gotten off thinking about Hearst and the girls. He had just tried to see what it would take to send their suspect over the edge. To get through that righteous nonchalance and get a rise out of the man, to get under Hearst's skin until he threw a punch at Owens or bent him over the desk and –

Somewhere, someone was blowing a horn. 

“Now, Detective, shouldn't you stop at red lights?” 

The mocking tone was almost too much to take. He hit the breaks hard, almost sending Hearst face first into the front window. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Hearst.

“Did _you_?” Before Hearst could ask what he was on about, he continued: “When we showed you the photos, when you found the body, did you get off on that? What about when we were alone in the fucking office. My ‘little performance', as you called it, did that do the trick? What excited you most – the images of the girls I put in your head... or me?”

For a moment, it looked as if Hearst would hit him. Then he chuckled harshly. “You're playing with high stakes, Detective Owens.”

Owens absorbed the backhanded compliment with the barest shadow of a smile and restarted the engine.

* * *

He stopped in front of the villa, the huge gates at the entry having closed behind him in a matter that reminded him of a prison. Idly, he wondered whether that was how Hearst felt. There was no sympathy in the idea, just mild curiosity.

Hearst got out of the car, looking over his shoulder at the Detective. 

"You coming?"

It was a neutral statement rather than a question or an order, leaving just enough room for Owens to tell the older man to fuck off, if that was what he wanted. Both of them knew that it wouldn't come to this. If there had be any doubt about what it was bristling between them, or where the tension would lead them, the innuendo-laden conversation in the car had stifled it.

The hallway Hearst had been rambling on about during the interrogation seemed endless indeed, because the bloody stairway lead up to the first floor right next to Chantal's room, and that was not where they're heading to. Not at all. 

Owens had been in Hearst's bedroom before, taking in every detail, from the color of the wallpaper to the material of the bed sheets. It was looking different now, barely like the same room. Part of him wanted to put it down to the light, the darkness turning the room into deep blue hues, shadows hiding what he'd mentally mapped in the bright sunlight. But that was only part of the story. It looked different because the situation was different. Because he was in a different position: not the bystander observing from the outside anymore, not the Detective looking out for suspicious hints to bring Hearst down. 

Apparently absent-minded, he lightly touched the bedcovers, nervously licking his lips.

"Bring people here often?"

Hearst let out a snort. "Hardly. The whores don't care for silk sheets, and the girls are usually dead before we get so far."

"That's not funny," Owens protested, the wise-crack reply that Hearst probably expected from him stuck in his throat. The advantage of cornering Hearst on familiar territory was gone. This was not even neutral ground anymore but enemy territory he was treading on; and his arrogance was withering.

Hearst too lost his sneer, and for a second, Owens caught a glimpse of the damage their wearing interrogation had caused. "It never was."

"No, I don't suppose so," he muttered. "You going to press charges?" The frown creasing his eyebrows belied the nonchalant tone of the question. 

"Is that why you're here?" Hearst asked, amused, obviously not actually giving a damn about the other man's motivations. 

Owens gave a short laugh. "What, whoring myself out for the sake of my career? Please!" The idea hadn't even crossed his mind. He didn't feel guilty for the harsh treatment he'd been subjecting Hearst to. There had been a rapist and killer on the lose, and it was his fucking duty to find the bastard. No one was going to have his head for that. The ends justify the means, and all that crap. Of course, in the light of that, it was rather unfortunate that his suspicions had turned out to be unfounded.

"I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time." Hearst eyed him speculatively. "You're awfully young for a detective." He leered at Owens. – A suggestion that was clearly meant to rile the younger man, but it only got a dry chuckle from Owens. 

"Interesting, the things you think your old pal Victor capable of. I assure you, Henry, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want it." He watched Hearst with a smile, amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

They eyed each other for a minute that seemed to stretch endlessly. Gradually, Owens' confidence was returning. He casually lounged with his back against a wall, waiting. Waiting for the proverbial axe to fall, for Hearst to make the first move. Just waiting. Time was ticking away. The sharp bark of a dog outside tore into the silence.

"So, this is Tango," Owens commented idly, just to say something.

Hearst shrugged. "What do you care? I don't think you're here for the dog. Are you?"

Back to square one. The detective didn't reply, trying his best to stare Hearst down. They held eye contact until it was close to unbearable. A tiny smile tugged at Hearst's mouth. "Well then, I believe we were discussing your place before, Detective Owens."

Owens smirked and pushed himself away from the wall, stalking over to where Hearst was standing. In one smooth motion, he was down on his knees in front of the older man. When he opened the zipper and Hearst was already half-hard, it felt like victory rather than surrender.

Hearst didn't make a sound when Owens leant forward and swallowed him. He didn't even move his hands away from his sides, but they clenched into fists, so tightly that the knuckles turned white; and Owens knew he had him. It didn't matter that he was the one on his knees, it didn't matter that Hearst's dick was in his mouth. Didn't matter even that Hearst the bastard was acting like he was superior and unfazed. Because he wasn't. What mattered was that Owens was the one in control, had always been. Even if Hearst might have thought differently.

And then, suddenly, there was a hand in his hair, tightening until it _hurt_ so much that the pain drove tears into his eyes. He almost came without even being touched. He closed his eyes, relishing the feeling and craving for more.

With a splash of warmth and a deep thrust forward, Hearst erupted into his mouth, tearing at his hair.

His lips felt bruised and swollen, but Owens smirked, catching his breath. He heard a rustle of cloth and looked up to see Hearst stepping away, fastening his pants.

"Get out," he commanded briskly, in a harsh voice.

Owens frowned. He stood up on shaky legs, wiping his mouth. "We aren't through yet." Sure, it had been a promising start, but not quite what he'd come for.

Hearst's demeanor was unmoved, cool, as if they'd just signed a business deal. Or rather, not signed it. "We are. This is over when I say it is."

"This is over when you have me bent over; and you know it", Owens shot back. He smiled. "But hey, this is your party. I can wait."

***

The end


End file.
